Wait
by wolfgirl2001
Summary: It's amazing how finding the courage to say one little word can make such a big difference. Takes place beginning at Tape 6, Side A (Clay's tape). Will alternate POV between Hannah and Clay.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: First of all, this fic is based on the Netflix series, not the book (the book is on order but I heard about the show first :)). I found the romance between Hannah and Clay to be really endearing, and the way that Clay responded to Hannah's outburst in this episode was so incredibly sweet. I just wish it didn't have to be so sad, so I'm writing an alternate take (I realize there's similar fiction out there but I purposely didn't read it in an attempt to keep this as original as possible). I have no idea how long this story will be or where it's going yet.

* * *

Chapter 1: Hannah's POV

 _"Hannah-"_

 _"Get the FUCK out!"_

I hear you walk briskly to the door. I hear the rattle of the doorknob jiggling. Yet, for some reason, the party downstairs doesn't get any louder. There must still be something in the way, an obstruction, because the sound waves aren't suddenly being amplified even more in my ears.

The sounds of all of our classmates laughing, talking, drinking, being rowdy and carefree and uninhibited, having the time of their lives. The sounds of everyone down there feeling the kind of good that I never thought that I'd feel again.

Except that I _just_ felt it, when you first kissed me. Even though now it feels like so long ago.

 _At that moment, everything was perfect. And for the first time, in a long time, I could imagine a future where I was happy. How good life could be._

You haven't opened the door yet- that's the only thing I can think to explain it. You've turned the knob, but for some reason you're hesitating to pull on it. Waiting.

 _And I know you felt it, too._

You're meeting me halfway. Giving me time. Time for the part of me that never wanted to see you again to lose a bloody battle to the part of me saying "please don't leave."

Right? I don't dare look at you to confirm or discredit my theory.

But how long will you stay? How long will you wait for me? If you open the door now, will you shut me out of your life forever?

I'm terrified to find out. But even more terrified to show you how weak I am, how broken I am. Because you deserve someone unbroken, whole. Not me.

 _Please don't leave._

Three words. Too many. And one of them so vulnerable, practically begging you. _Please._ No. I just can't do it.

Two words? Don't go? Turn around? Stop there?

No. Two is too many, too.

The doorknob rattles again. This time, it feels more finite. And then, gradually, the noise of the party begins to filter inside Jessica's room, just a bit at a time. The moment that it starts to happen, I realize that I hate it. Those voices, those stupid, happy, voices. They'll drown out my own, and yours. I can't let them.

I don't have much time. I have to act now. You're opening the door.

One word?

"Wait." The word escapes my larynx in a garbled whimper. Surely not loud enough to be heard over the rising volume of the festivities downstairs. Which is probably for the best, because part of me doesn't want you to hear me anyway.

But somehow, miraculously, you do hear me. The door shuts again, as slowly as it opened, and the doorknob jiggles again. The voices subside. I breathe a sigh of relief. And you turn around, and your eyes are on me, which usually is thrilling but right now is terrifying. When I look closer, I see both the love and the sadness in them.

"Of _course_ , I'll wait, Hannah. I'm so sorry for pushing you."

You've misinterpreted. You mean the sex, right? Well, yeah, we're definitely not going to have sex now. So yeah, you'll have to wait for that.

Still, you're apologizing. For something you didn't even do. You didn't push me into anything. You even asked me if it was okay. Which is far more than what most guys do, from my experience. And me saying "more than okay," isn't exactly a mixed signal.

I open my mouth, and then shut it again. It's not worth the effort to clarify what I wanted you to wait for. I'm not sure I even know.

You creep closer. As if I was holding a bomb, maybe. I can't blame you, really. I did just explode.

I could explode again. I could tell you to get the fuck out again. And you would- you'd listen. I'm sure of it.

Except- you did what I wanted. Or what part of me wanted anyway, the bigger part of me, at least for now. You didn't leave. I should at least reward you for that. So I don't tell you to get the fuck out. I just watch you as you cautiously approach. I guess that's something.

You sit gingerly at the foot of the bed. At least a couple of feet away. Again, I don't blame you. The fact that you kept touching me as you were apologizing just seemed to piss me off even more. The distance is better, for now.

I don't know what comes next. I guess I should apologize for pushing you away, except I don't have the energy. Even "please don't go" still sounds too daunting. I don't have the courage to tell you what's wrong, either, so that's a question I won't be able to answer right now. And I know you'll ask it. I finally shrug my shoulders, as if to say "don't worry about it," without making the effort to move my mouth.

You look at me seriously, worried. "You know I didn't try to push you, right? I would never-,"

I nod. I know you wouldn't. You aren't every other guy. You're different. You're good, and kind, and decent. I speak softly. "I know."

* * *

Chapter 1: Clay's POV

 _"Hannah-"_

 _"Get the FUCK out!"_

I walk towards the door, shocked, numb. It's a small room- it doesn't take me long. I put my hand on the doorknob; rotate it. I'm about to pull the door open when I can't shake a thought:

 _Even though you told me to- I can't leave things like this. Right?_ I just stand there frozen to the spot while I try to decide.

My mind is still swirling, churning at a million miles a minute. I just cannot figure out where the fuck I went so wrong. Because a minute ago things felt so _right_. I need to figure it out quickly, before I lose you for good. Time is running out. I fiddle with the doorknob impatiently.

I guess- you thought I was taking things too far just now? I thought- I thought you were okay with everything that I was doing. But I'm obviously missing something, something big. I try to break it down.

It wasn't the kissing- you responded to that just fine. _More than okay_ , in fact. And there was absolutely no way kisses that good could be one-sided. Your soft lips, her warm tongue against mine- it was basically the best feeling in the universe. Better than I could ever imagine kissing could be.

Maybe it was when I felt your breast- perhaps I was a little too aggressive. I was trying to be gentle, to do something that you would really like, honest. I would _never_ try to hurt you. But considering that it was the most intimately I've ever touched anyone (with porn being my only teacher), combined with the fact that you're basically the girl of my dreams- I might have gotten carried away. I was certainly excited enough.

Maybe you could feel _how_ excited I was, pressed so closely against you; maybe _that_ was the problem. Given the circumstances, I couldn't really control myself, but maybe I should have been more considerate so as not to confront you directly with my raging hard-on.

Still, it's hard to imagine that either of those things are what caused you to get as upset as you did. I mean, all that they tell me is how much you turn me on (and, God, it is a _lot_ ). And yeah, of course I would love to have sex with you- but only when _you_ want to. It's not just about the physical stuff for me. I love talking to you- I have ever since that first day at the Crestmont. I want to take care of you, to make you feel better when you're down, to love you. I _love_ you, Hannah.

I've never _seen_ you so upset before. It shakes me to my core. What else could I have done to cause it? I went through everything we were doing already- kissing, boob-grab, bodies close. If not any of those things, then what? What are you going through?

Did something happen to you physically just now that you didn't want to tell me about? Maybe you got your period? Or maybe you just weren't feeling turned on so you decided to react this way instead? I think back to health class, how embarrassingly little I know about the female anatomy, about _your_ anatomy. Maybe Justin was just light-years better at this stuff. Of course he was. I have so much to learn. But I _want_ to learn it, I do. I'll do whatever you tell me, whatever makes you happy.

Or what about emotionally? You don't- you don't think I'd actually do what Justin did, snap pictures, brag to everyone, send out a group text, do you? I would _never_ do that to you. I hope that you already know that.

Or maybe something else happened? Something you think I'm incapable of understanding because I was raised in a bubble by helicopter parents. Something I probably _wouldn't_ understand. But why not try to tell me anyway? Even if I didn't understand, I'd listen and stroke your hair and hold you and wipe away your tears, I'd say the most comforting words I could, I'd stay with you as long as you'd let me.

But you obviously want me to leave, which you so colorfully articulated to me. Standing at this door for God knows how long hasn't helped me to figure out why. Waiting here with the hopes that you'll change your mind seems pointless. I might as well go. I start to open the door.

"Wait."

Your voice sounds small and scared. And I want nothing more than to run to you, hug you, comfort you.

But I'm not a total idiot. I've learned from the last few minutes. I'm the rat in a cage who got shocked after grabbing a food pellet. There's another pellet there now, but I need to find out how safe it is before touching it.

I close the door, hesitating, my hand still holding the doorknob for a moment. As I do, I feel something there, almost as though someone's on the other side, though the feeling quickly dissipates. I make an adjustment before turning around and approaching you. I don't know exactly what you mean, and I'm afraid to ask. Did you mean wait, don't leave? Or did you mean wait, wait for the physical stuff we were just doing?

It doesn't matter. Either way, I'll wait.

"Of _course_ , I'll wait, Hannah. I'm so sorry for pushing you." I'm sincere.

You shrug. I'm not sure if that's an acknowledgement that I _did_ push things too far, or if you're shrugging to get out of telling me whatever the alternative explanation is.

I decide to act quickly assuming option 1. After all, if I _did_ act too aggressively just now, you need to know the truth about it. If that's not what you felt, you can always correct me. "You know I didn't try to push you, right? I would never-,"

You look at me, with those wide, piercing eyes. Honest eyes. Sad eyes.

"I know."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Clay's POV

 _"You know I didn't try to push you, right? I would never-,"_

 _"I know."_

They say that the eyes are the window into the soul, right?

It's not what you just said, or even how you said it. It's what I saw in your eyes as you spoke- that's what stood out to me the most. Vulnerability. Hurt. And not from just this evening, though seeing it tonight- it looked raw and freshly exposed.

Seeing you this way is devastating, though part of me has to admit that I feel a small measure of relief. Relief that you finally showed me something that will help me understand what's going on with you. Because the look I just saw behind your eyes gave me more clarity, more insight into your pain, than almost anything you could say.

Your reaction just now wasn't about whether I accidentally grabbed your boob too hard, or anything else I might have unintentionally done tonight because I'm inexperienced or clumsy. Now I'm sure of it. No, you've just shown me, consciously or not, that you're _wounded_ , like an animal that's been purposely inflicted with the worst kind of torture. That would explain why you lashed out at me right when I was trying most to help you. You simply didn't trust me enough not to hurt you, too.

Who hurt you, Hannah? And why don't you trust me? Given that I would _never_ try to hurt you, it's hard for me to understand.

 _Pardon me, but you_ really _hurt my feelings._

The memory suddenly stabs into my mind like a needle. You sitting with me in the cafeteria- even after I made it clear to you that at that moment my geometry homework was more important than our friendship. Your observations about me- they were spot-on, as usual, as much as I didn't want to admit it. _I don't think you're socially awkward at all. I think you're just scared. I think you're waiting._ And of course, my overreaction. _Yeah, well, sometimes it's_ better _to wait!_ The emotions that I had been trying so hard to suppress boiled over the surface, jealousy and frustration that you would let a jerk like Justin Foley do things with you that I couldn't.

Of course, I'd realized my words were too harsh almost the moment after I said them. Not that it mattered then. You were already gone.

And, naturally, because I tend to torment myself this way, and because I pretty much remember every conversation we've ever had, I now think back to the fact that I was somehow still oblivious to what a jackass I was the next time we ate lunch together at school. _No geometry homework today?_ At the time I was too clueless to understand that I should have immediately replied with an apology. Because better late than never.

 _Well, I guess I just answered my own question about why you don't trust me,_ I think to myself _._

Maybe clarity isn't such a good thing after all.

I realize that I need to make things better. Not screw things up, as every single action that I've taken in the last couple of minutes seemed to do. I wrack my brain, trying to figure out what to say next.

Something occurs to me. _Better late than never._

"Um, Hannah?" I ask you gently.

You don't reply, but your big round eyes at least tell me that I have your full attention.

"I'm – I'm really sorry."

It looks like you're doing everything you can to suppress an eye-roll, as if you're annoyed that I'm issuing some sort of blanket apology, guy-style, saying the words without ever really knowing why. Yet maybe you see something in _my_ eyes this time. So you indulge me anyway. "For what?"

"I'm- I'm sorry about what I said to you after I saw that picture that Justin sent."

This seems to take you aback. Your eyes now register shock, a bit of confusion. You look down, playing with your hands, averting my gaze. "Why are you telling me now?"

I shrug. How can I explain this? I try to come up with a response. Best to be truthful, I guess. I cough, clearing my throat. "I, um, I guess I just wish you trusted me more, that's all."

You look back up, eyes startled again, though your voice comes out evenly. "I trust you," you say after a moment's hesitation. Far too long.

I give you a half-smile. "No, you don't."

You half-smile back, surprised at the quickness of my response. "Yes, I do."

I shake my head and say it again. "No you don't."

"Why do you say that?" you ask me, genuinely curious.

"Because you're not telling me what's wrong." It's a pretty simple explanation, really. _Why did you stop? Why did you get so upset, Hannah? And why won't you tell me why?_

You sigh, defeated. I try not to celebrate. _I got you there! Who's the best at the personal insights now?_ Then I quickly realize that this is not actually a victory.

You let out an even bigger sigh before you speak again. Then you say, "It's not really one thing. It's a lot of things. And I'm not really up for talking about them right now. They're- well, there are a lot of things you probably don't know about me."

I press gently. "How about talking about just one of them?"

I see your hesitation, so I quickly add, "First I'll tell you something you might not know about me."

You don't actually nod in agreement, but you cock your eyebrow, waiting. I suppose you could still back out after I've delivered on my end, but it's a chance that I'm willing to take.

I dive in. "I liked the fact that you were new, that we didn't grow up together. You may have already heard this from someone else, but rumors were flying around all throughout freshman year that I was gay. It even reached Mrs. Antilly, who told my parents- and they sat me down for the most embarrassing talk ever. I wanted- I wanted a fresh start with you," I confess. I have bigger secrets when it comes to you, Hannah, but this one is still fairly embarrassing. A good place to begin.

You keep your eyebrow raised in amusement for a moment, chuckling. Then your eyes cloud over a bit and anger fills your face. Your chin falls as you closely examine the stitching of Jessica's bedspread. After a minute you finally speak up. "Okay, fine. I guess I'll tell you this one thing that's wrong, while we're on the subject of same-sex relationships. The picture you saw of me that Justin sent isn't the only one that got circulated around school. There was another picture of me- one where I'm kissing Courtney Crimson."

I know instantly which picture you're referring to. A million questions flood my mind. Pretty consequential ones. Are you bisexual? Who took the picture? Who circulated it? What happened to you because of it? What happened to Courtney?

And yet- forgive me, I'm a guy- a million images flood my mind as well. That picture served as my masturbatory material for _weeks_. I didn't know it was you, but it looked like you, partly because you and the girl in the picture had the same wild hair at one point, so I imagined it was you while I jacked off. The fact that it _was_ you- _damn_.

You interrupt my train of thought, which is a good thing, since I don't need to be thinking about that kind of stuff right now. Not after you just rejected me.

"Do you think differently of me?"

I'm trapped. I can tone it down a bit, but I have to be honest here. I shrug. "A little, maybe. But not in a bad way." This is the understatement of the fucking century. Words cannot describe how much seeing you in that picture turns me on. Assuming you two were just goofing around, that is.

"You seemed to think of me differently in a bad way when you saw the other one." You're referring back to the picture that Justin took.

I take a deep breath. Confession #2, I guess. Tit for tat. "I was jealous of Justin. And pissed off." I gulp.

"Why?"

Well, here it goes. No holding back now. "Because-" I attempt to explain, "I've wanted- _this_ ," I gesture between the two of us, still thinking about us making out a mere few minutes ago, "ever since I first met you. Since before Justin Foley ever even asked you out. And- and I would treat you so much better than he did. It made me mad, that you went out with him and not me, and that he did that to you."

You look at me, almost accusingly. "You never asked me out. Justin did. That's the only difference."

I look to the bedspread, too, now. "I wanted to. I tried to." I think back to all of our little pseudo-dates, what I wanted to be dates disguised as hanging out as friends. Walking you home from work, watching the eclipse, dancing together at the winter formal.

"Why didn't you?"

"I was scared."

"Why?"

"Because, Hannah-," I hesitate, trying to decide whether to make this statement about you or me. _You're beautiful. Out of my league. I'm nerdy. Ordinary._ I go with the latter. "I'm a skinny dork. You told me both of those things, said I only _might_ fill out." Even now, those words still sting a bit.

You give me a little smile, but there's both remorse and rage underneath. "Well, I'm a slut."

I shake my head adamantly. "No, you're not. But your experience- it put you on a different level. Made you even more intimidating to me."

"And that's why you didn't ask me out? You just judged me instead?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to- but I know that's no excuse. Like I said, I was mad. And jealous. _I_ wanted to be the one taking you out, kissing you…." I don't fill in the rest. Obviously kissing wasn't quite all I wanted, if I had the choice, but I'm not trying to be a pervert about it.

This offense apparently warranted two apologies. Some of the anger on your face finally dissipates.

But not all of it. "Well, we hung out all night, and you kissed me just now- did you get what you wanted?" You still sound slightly accusatory.

"That sounds like a trick question," I say carefully.

"How so?"

"Well, because-" I begin, "considering how many times I wanted to kiss you- after walking you home, at the dance- and then chickening out, I'm glad that I finally took the chance. But kissing you isn't all that I want- and I'm not talking about physically. I'm- um, I want us to be _together_ , to finally be more than friends," I say. "And I want us to talk more, get closer that way. So if you shut me out right now, and don't want to talk to me anymore, then I probably _will_ regret kissing you- even though it was the most amazing fucking kiss I've ever had in my entire life." There. I've laid it all out on the table now. Which is okay. If I want you to be vulnerable in front of me, I need to show you that I'm willing to be vulnerable in front of you. Even if it's terrifying.

It takes a minute, but you eventually smile, one of those radiant smiles. Just for a moment. It's one of the things I love most about you. "That's a good answer," you finally say.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks for all of the great reviews, guys! It's hugely motivating :). I should caveat before I write any more from Hannah's POV that I'm extremely lucky to have never been depressed or suicidal. I've been really sad, of course, and try my best to express what I can imagine Hannah's feeling, but if some things seem inconsistent with how someone who's feeling that low behaves, that's probably why.

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Chapter 3: Hannah's POV

 _"That's a good answer."_

Really, Hannah, that's all that you can think to say? Your only response to the guy that you've been crushing on for months now saying all of the things that you desperately want to hear? Need to hear?

Though I know I must have grinned like an idiot. I'm still reeling from your declaration. Not just that last one, though that's what I mostly reacted to. But all of it. This whole conversation so far.

 _I wanted a fresh start with you._ I never knew you needed to escape anything. You're so good at hiding it. Kind of like me.

 _I've wanted_ this _ever since I first met you._ You did? I would never have known. I can't say quite the same- I mostly saw you as a friend at first. But ever since we danced- I knew I wanted this, too.

 _I would treat you so much better than he did._ I have no doubt you would, Helmet. I should have let you. I probably would have, if I'd known. Maybe it's not too late now.

 _I was scared._ Really, was I that intimidating? I never viewed myself that way. It makes me feel stronger, more powerful somehow.

 _I want us to be together._ Part of me does, too. And part of me knows that I don't deserve to be with someone like you- that I never will, that I'll ruin you. I don't know which part is bigger right now.

 _It was the most amazing fucking kiss I've ever had in my entire life._ I cannot argue with you there. Even a little bit. _Wow_.

 _If you don't want to talk to me anymore, then I probably_ will _regret kissing you._ I can't even think about that- the thought makes me sick to my stomach.

 _I want us to talk more, get closer that way._ This terrifies the hell out of me. But since I can't even _think_ about you regretting that you kissed me, I decide maybe it's best for me that I try to say more to you.

You seem to be thinking along the same lines that I am- that you want us to keep talking. "Hey, you never said much else about the picture," you begin. You're referencing the one of me and Courtney, not the one of just me. I brought it up but didn't really get the chance to explain to you why I'm so upset about it. Not that the mere existence of a photo like that isn't upsetting in and of itself.

You scoot a little closer to me on the bed. Still pretty far away, but within arm's distance now. And then you reach out and grab me.

You don't grab my ass, like Bryce; or my inner thigh, like Marcus. You cautiously grasp my hand, squeezing it firmly but gently, first my palm, then my fingers, then my fingertips, before letting it drop. "You can tell me," you say reassuringly. "You can say anything to me. I'll listen. And I won't tell a soul. I promise." You're earnest, pleading at me with your eyes.

I've heard a lot of those words before- they're what have gotten me in trouble in the past. But because you're different, because you're decent, and kind, because of the way you're looking at me, because I don't want to let you down, I think, _fuck it, I'll tell you_. I decide it will be easier to just tell you what happened than to tell you to get the fuck out again after everything you just told me. So I take a shaky breath and start to speak.

I start at the beginning of the whole sordid tale, with Tyler Down and his sick perversion of photographing people late at night in their own homes. I tell you about venting to Courtney, her suggestion of setting a trap. My parents being away, the alcohol, the truth-or-dare, the kissing. The pictures. The confrontation that I had with Tyler, making him promise me to throw them out. How almost immediately after violating my privacy he had the audacity to ask me out, and how he must have taken my rejecting him personally. The whole time, my voice wavers, and my eyes are teary, but I manage not to break down.

I tell you how the circulation of that picture throughout our entire high school made Courtney so paranoid that she threw my reputation into the garbage trying to protect her own dirty secret. And all of this was good, in a way, because it circled back to what happened right after our dance together, to what you heard Montgomery say.

"Courtney was the one who told him all that stuff," I tell you. "She told him that I was kissing Laura in the picture, she told him that I propositioned her for a three-way, she told him all of that stuff that happened with Justin. Clay, _none_ of it was true."

You carefully reach over and squeeze my hand again. Only this time, you don't let go. "I believe you," you say honestly. "It sounds like she was really scared that she'd be found out, so she protected herself any way she could. _Not_ that it justifies how terribly she treated you. God, Hannah, I'm so sorry. I can't imagine what you must have gone through." There's so much tenderness in your voice.

Tears well up in my eyes. It's indescribable how much I needed to hear you say that. "Thanks for letting me tell you," I say, voice cracking.

"You don't have to thank me. I'll listen anytime. I um- I _want_ to be there for you." You slowly pull me in for a hug, looking at me for silent permission first. I nod.

We've had some practice hugging- apparently, as you've just admitted, there were times when you wanted to kiss me but couldn't find the nerve, so we did this instead. Even though I might have wanted you to kiss me, too, I enjoyed it so much, being wrapped in your arms. I felt _safe_. I feel safe now, with your arms enveloping me. It feels so different from embraces with other boys. No agendas or expectations- you just hold me. I don't want to let you go. I suppose you don't want to let me go, either. We hug for a long time. Minutes.

A few of my already-produced tears fall, but for some reason I don't make new ones. The fact that I feel like you _would_ let me cry in your embrace is enough, for now. And being so close to you for so long begins to remind me of our kissing just a few minutes ago, which starts to confuse the hell out of me, to be honest. _This is weird- I don't want to kiss you again right now- do I?_ I pull away before I can seriously entertain the impulse. I wonder if you feel the same way.

Perhaps you do, as your eyes look a little glazed over when we first part. But you shake yourself out of it. And the expression that remains on your face is- I don't know- nervous somehow. Anxious. Like you want to ask me something.

I make it easy for you. "What is it?" I wonder.

You fidget, pulling your hand away, avoiding my gaze. "So- um, the stuff that happened with Justin?" That's all you need to say, really. I know exactly what you're asking.

"We kissed. That was it," I say flatly. God, I hate Justin in that moment. I add, "The reason he was able to take that picture was because I slid down the slide at the park to meet him."

Anger clouds your face for a minute. "What an asshole."

I agree. "Yeah, he's a whole other story. One that I don't need to get into right now. You got the gist of it, though. First base. No further."

You look visibly relieved. Even though I suppose I could be mad that you hearing that rumor made you view me differently, I decide to give you a pass, since you've already explained yourself. You were jealous of Justin. That must have been pretty hard for you to say. And it's weird, but I kind of like being viewed more innocently in your eyes.

But you're still nervous. There's still something else you want to ask me. I give you a look to let you know that I'm listening.

You tense up even more. "Um- well, I was also just- um, wondering- um, what you felt when you kissed Courtney. I mean- um, are you- ?" You stumble over your words.

I know what you're asking me- and it's so cute, how awkward you are. I actually start laughing. It feels almost foreign, but I welcome it. I haven't laughed enough lately.

"No, I'm not gay, or bisexual," I tell you. "We were half-drunk, playing truth-or-dare, bonding over our plan to take down the mysterious voyeur. We ended up kissing, and yeah, it was fun, but I didn't feel anything." I look over at you, and your relief is palpable. I want to laugh again. All men, it seems, have a fragile ego. But I try to be kind instead- because I know I'd want you to be that way to me.

I squeeze _your_ hand this time. "If you're asking if the kiss I shared with her compares to the one I shared with you, it doesn't. My kiss with you was- like you said- 'the most amazing fucking kiss I've ever had in my entire life.'" I smile as the words come out of my mouth.

You blush fifty shades of red, all the way up your ears. It's adorable.

Your reaction causes me to giggle again, though I feel the need to add, "It's true," to reassure you. I find myself feeling so- light, relieved, unburdened. I'm practically giddy.

I realize that I could get used to this feeling, maybe even make it a habit. Maybe even become an addict. I've never smoked cigarettes, but I've seen the expressions on people's faces when they finally get their much-needed nicotine fixes. That's what I feel I must look like right about now.

It's not talking about things that bother me, necessarily- I've tried to do that, lots of times. It's talking about them with someone who really cares, who's willing to take the time, who likes me but yet isn't in it because of some ulterior motive. Helmet, it's talking like that with _you_. And while I've said enough to satisfy my craving for the moment- soon I'll want more, I'll _need_ more, I know I will.

Before either of us can say anything else, there's an abrupt jiggling of the doorknob outside of the bedroom. "Open up! There's no where else to go and we're tired of waiting. It's- my- room," Jessica's voice slurs in overly dramatic teenage drunk-speak. She's clearly wasted.

Justin's voice is next, accompanied by a loud banging on the door. "Yeah, open up! We could-" there's a pause in the knocking where Justin clearly does something with his hands to cause Jessica to drunkenly squeal- "use a little privacy," he eventually finishes. The jiggling of the doorknob gets more aggressive, but the door doesn't budge.

I turn to you accusingly, about to chew you out, but I see you have your pointer finger over your lips, silently shushing me. _'You locked the door?'_ I quietly mouth instead.

You nod, reply in a low whisper. "Yeah, I was trying to _avoid_ a confrontation, not this," you say desperately, vaguely gesturing towards the sound, where Jessica and Justin are still pounding on the door and on top of that are now arguing at full volume.

"Just let me break the door down!"

"No, idiot, then you won't be able to _close_ it."

"So? We just need a place to lie down, right?"

"No, I'll get in trouble. Look, I give up. I can go to the couch downstairs- I really _do_ need to lay down-" I hear light irregular taps of Jessica stumbling as she takes off down the hallway.

"Jessica, wait! There are so many _people_ down there…." But eventually Justin's much louder footsteps head in the same direction.

When they're decidedly gone, I turn back to look at you. _I just busted you red-handed, Helmet._

"You locked the door?" I repeat. "When did you do that?" When you were being all smooth, right after we walked in, I imagine.

But you surprise me with your answer. "When, when- I was standing there for so long," you say. "And you said 'wait'. I knew I didn't want us to be barged in on until we talked things out, however long that took."

"And you didn't have anything in mind for what happened after that?" I'm half-teasing you, but half-testing you. You've already shown me you're no Justin Foley, but somehow I need more reassurance.

You look at me seriously. "Nope." But then a look of uncertainty takes over your face, and I see you form the question with your eyes. You stutter nervously, "Wait, w-why- did you?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Clay's POV:

 _"And you didn't have anything in mind for what happened after that?"_

 _"Nope. Wait, w-why- did you?"_

My heart is pounding louder and faster than I ever thought it could. Each second that I wait for your response feels like an eternity, and I lose another fraction of my newfound confidence.

Confidence that was bolstered by all I've learned about you over the last few minutes. _Justin lied about how far he went with you. You're not into girls. You thought our kissing was as incredible as I did._

You finally break the suspense. "I'd be happy if you just hugged me all night, Helmet." You laugh as though you'd just cracked a witty joke.

Now, I don't know as much as I want to know about you. But that laugh- it's not genuine. I've heard you laugh before, _really_ laugh, and this one sounds different, forced. Plus, it wasn't that funny.

You're serious. You need me to hold you, or someone to hold you, but you're laughing it off instead.

You continue. "But no, I didn't really have anything else in mind. We can go downstairs if you want; let Jessica have her room to commit whatever malfeasance she chooses to with Justin." You go to get up.

This time, _I_ stop _you_. "No, wait," I say firmly.

You meet my eye with a questioning look.

"We don't have to go anywhere. I'll hug you," I say. But instead of reaching out to hug you in a sitting position, I scoot up so that I'm laying on my side on one half of the bed, then I reach for your hand, inviting you to join me.

You scoot up, too, but stay facing away from me. I spoon you.

I've never lain so intimately with anyone before. My limited sexual experience consists of mostly just making out, and none of the girls that I've done that with have ever given me any indication that they wanted to cuddle afterward (nor did we really have the place to). I support my head with one of my hands by leaning on my elbow, but have my other hand free to hold you. I have trouble deciding where to put it, though. I start with it at your waist, which doesn't feel particularly comforting. I rest it on the bed in front of you, so that my arm is near your body but my hand isn't. I'm still a little terrified that I'll touch you somewhere that I'm not specifically invited, and that you'll react negatively again. But this doesn't really feel like a hug, either. Eventually, you take my forearm and put it on your chest yourself, my hand now coming to rest right between your breasts, near your heart. I don't dare move it, but I squeeze you tighter, lowering my head towards your neck and taking a sharp inhale of your hair.

You smell like some kind of flower, and it intoxicates me more than anything I've drank tonight. My mouth is so close to your soft skin, and I want more than anything to kiss the nape of your neck, which is easily within reach. But I don't. I just breathe in and out, your scent flooding my nostrils and overwhelming me in the best way possible. You intertwine both of your arms with mine, keeping me from being able to move my arm even if I wanted to, which of course I don't.

I decide that this is basically the best thing ever.

I picture us doing this for the next two years, me sneaking into your room, you sneaking into mine, after our parents have gone to sleep. I picture me following you to college in New York City and sharing a little place, doing this at any hour and for however long we want, simply because there'll be no one there to stop us. I picture us doing this as we're about to drift off to sleep, and me waking up this way, to the smell of your hair. And I picture us doing this, hot and naked and sweaty, after we've done a _lot_ of other things, things that make me blush and breathe a little heavier at the same time.

Our bodies are _really_ close, with more of you touching more of me than even when we were kissing. Your body is nestled against mine, your butt pressing up against my groin, and I find myself getting _really_ turned on. I immediately shift so that it's not quite so obvious to you, but I somehow doubt you're that oblivious.

Sure enough, you roll over so that you're now facing me, moving an inch or two away so that we're no longer touching. _Shit_. I avoid your gaze for a second, bracing myself for your anger, and for your reaction. Yelling, screaming, telling me to get the fuck out again. _Please don't be mad. I couldn't help it, Hannah._

But thankfully, you don't look mad- instead you look- thoughtful. You bite your lip. "Clay?" you whisper.

"Yeah?" My heart stops for a moment every time you say my name, I swear.

"We can, um, kiss again- I mean, uh, if you want to," you begin. But then you bite your lip again, and your eyes start to fill up with tears. "Only- just- can you not- touch me tonight? I'm sorry, if that sounds rude, I just- I just- can't-"

I nod. I get it this time, I think. You need to take things slow. Based on what you just told me about Justin, and a little more about what you've been through this last year, I can now understand why. And while before I might have been offended or hurt, assuming it had something to do with me, I try to look at it differently now. _You think I'm an amazing kisser; that's what you want to focus on for the moment._ I assure you that of course, it's okay. Then I lean in slowly, kissing not your lips, but just beneath your eyes where a couple of your tears have fallen. I'm not sure that I've ever kissed anything so gently.

Then I shift location and softly press my lips to yours.

The kissing is different this time. Knowing exactly where you want things to stop means that I will be able to take a lot more time to enjoy what we are doing in the moment. This kissing is less frenzied, more tender. Rather than focusing on your body, I touch your face. Your long lashes, your rounded cheeks, your smooth skin- I pause in-between kisses to touch my fingertip to your full lips and look into your heavy-lidded green eyes. I run my fingers through your gorgeous hair, grateful that your haircut has made it easier for me. _God, you're so beautiful, Hannah._

We kiss for what feels like forever. We hardly move- a while later, we're still positioned the exact same way, lying down, facing each other on the bed, a respectable couple of inches between us. My lips are a little swollen and when we finally come up for air I see how flushed your cheeks are, how red your lips have become.

I try to keep my thoughts from going wayward, to little avail. But I shove them into the back of my mind as best they'll fit.

We both realize at the same time that there is no longer loud music blaring downstairs. In fact, I can't hear anything at all but for a single voice.

You glance at the clock radio on Jessica's nightstand. "Holy shit, it's after 2 a.m.! I'd better get home; my parents are probably going to freak out."

Mine, too, though I quickly decide that tonight is worth the worst that they could possibly dish out. "Can I walk you?" I ask.

You look at me and smile. "Sure."

I get up first; then offer my hand and help you to your feet, even though you obviously don't need it. We walk, fingers intertwined, to the room entrance, and as I twist the door handle, I think of how grateful I am that you stopped me while I was standing right here, with just a word.

* * *

We make our way down the stairs. The party is clearly over. Plastic Solo cups litter every available counter; passed out partygoers are sprawled on nearly every softer surface (couch, ottoman, recliner). The music is off completely, the TV in Jessica's family room on instead, turned to ESPN, which is the sound we heard from the bedroom. Justin and Jessica are both squished on a loveseat, legs dangling over the edge. Justin has his mouth open, snoring.

But I lead you right past all of that. I don't care about the rest of them. I wasn't kidding earlier when I said I'd use a superpower to make them all disappear.

Except that it's actually much easier than that. All we have to do is step outside.

We start the walk to your house from Jessica's, hand-in-hand. For the first time since the "incident", if you will, you seem comfortable enough to shift into small talk. We talk about the Crestmont, about the movies we've seen there lately. We talk about school; about Miss Bradley's class and her ridiculous communications assignment to start off the school year. I tell you about the Perseids meteor shower that's supposed to peak in a couple of weeks; you tell me about some poetry that you've been reading. When I talk to you, time flies at a million miles a minute; before I want us to be, we're standing outside the doorstep of your parents' house.

You look up at me, eyes full of sorrow. "Helmet, I'm sorry," you say.

I wave you off. "You don't need to apologize. As long as it wasn't anything that I did- or didn't do-,"

"No," you cut in firmly. "It wasn't you. It was me. And everything that's happened to me. What I told you tonight isn't the half of it."

My heart breaks for you, for all of the shit that high school has put you through. I kind of hate it, too. I try to cheer you up. "Well, at least the last couple of hours went better….right?"

"Yeah, it did," you say, a little smile on your face.

"So, when can I hear the rest?"

You look back down. "You don't want to hear the rest."

I hesitate. I don't, but not for the reasons you think. I tell you so. "Only because I hate to think of you being that upset. But I'm happy to listen. So when can I see you again?"

"You really want to see me again after all the shit I pulled tonight?"

"More than ever."

Your little smile is back. "I don't know. Soon?"

"Tonight?"

You give me a puzzled look.

I check my watch. "It's almost two-thirty a.m. on Sunday. Can we hang out tonight?"

You hesitate for a moment. Then, "Okay."

I smile now. I add, "So it's a date?"

Your measured response: "Is it?"

I grin even more. "Yeah. As long as you want it to be."

You nod, and we exchange one of those long looks. Like after I walked you home from work, when I hugged you. And at the dance, when we just stared into each other's eyes. And upstairs at the party tonight, when I couldn't think of anything to say and stupidly brought up burnt popcorn. _Not this time, Jensen_ , I think. I lean in and kiss you goodnight.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 (Hannah's POV):

I wake up the morning after Jessica's party feeling something I haven't felt in a long, long, time.

Pure _excitement_.

Sure, I felt excited just last night when I decided to go to the party, knowing that you were going to be there. But that excitement was mixed in with other less positive emotions- anxiety, trepidation, dread- since I knew a lot of _other_ people were going to be there, too. In retrospect, I did have reason to feel that way- seeing Justin and Jessica together, for example, wasn't exactly the highlight of my evening. But even worse things _could_ have happened- an ass grab, a snarky or hurtful comment from Bryce, or Montgomery, or Marcus. The possibility of hooking up with you was amazing, but almost every other outcome for last night was not-so-great.

But, you see, today is different. There are a lot of possibilities when I think about our first date, but they're all _good_ ones. Where will we go? What will we do? Even if our date is in public, no matter how I picture it, it's just you and me. Thinking about that brings a huge smile to my face. Considering you still want to hang out with me after everything that I put you through last night, I'm pretty lucky to have you.

It starts off by you calling me right when you say you will. You promised to call me a little before your afternoon shift starts at 2. Sure enough, I hear my phone ring right around 1:15.

We chat briefly about where to meet tonight. We do a bit of a role reversal, since I can easily borrow my parents' new Jeep. I ask you if I should pick you up at the Crestmont but you joke that you don't want to smell like burnt popcorn for our date, so we agree that I'll pick you up at your house at 7 (you don't get off until 6 and have to bike home, but you explain to me that you don't need much time to get ready). The butterflies- the _good_ ones- are already fluttering in my stomach by the time we get off the phone.

I spend a stupid amount of time getting ready, trying to look perfect. I tell my parents I have a date and ask them if I can drive, and somewhat surprisingly, they let me. _You've seemed down, lately, Hannah- go have fun on your date. Just be home by 11 o'clock, since it's a school night._ They're also ecstatic when I reaffirm that you're actually a good guy. _'That's great, sweetie! You deserve someone who treats you like a queen.' 'All I said was that he was nice, mom.'_ They're even cool with not meeting you for this particular date, though they lightly threaten me that it will need to happen soon.

I drive to your house, feeling a little anxious about whether I need to have some kind of awkward conversation with your parents, but thankfully you meet me outside so that I don't even have to get out of the Jeep. You look incredible, better than you did for the party- and you even have a little product in your hair. When I ask you why, you grin and tell me that you're taking my advice. You then tell me I look great, and I beam. Since last night, the compliments seem to glide more easily off of your tongue. Hopefully it's because you finally know how I feel about you, so you're not as nervous to say them anymore. I'm thinking all of the kissing may have given it away.

I ask what the plans are. You look embarrassed but tell me that you think we should go to the Crestmont. I give you a puzzled look before you fess up and admit that it's because Vance and Jackie are closing tonight. Vance is in his seventies and isn't very mobile, and Jackie is our age (she goes to the Catholic school so we don't know her very well) and is probably the most unmotivated employee on the planet. In other words- no one will bother us. I agree.

It's fun being at the movie theater for our first date- for a bunch of reasons. It's like working together, but not- since we both look decidedly better without the hideous uniforms, and haven't absorbed the "various smells" of the Crestmont that comes with doing all of those dreadful closing duties. We get a discount on the tickets and food, though we both agree to skip the "butter-based product" on our popcorn, stocking up on Mike&Ikes instead. You insist on paying. Perhaps most importantly, I'm surrounded by good memories of us getting to know each other. They contribute to the enormity of what is happening between us now.

Of course we know the best places to sit if one wants to be left alone, and we do. We're here for the German movie with the subtitles, which has low attendance. We slip into the back row on the edge, watching as a few other couples enter the theater and proceed towards the front.

We attempt to watch the movie at first, but it's a bit of a lost cause. We're sitting close enough that I can smell your cologne. As soon as the lights go down in the theater, you reach over to hold my hand, and your touch feels electric. I'm beyond distracted. We begin to watch the movie, but it's fairly boring, and we are pretty isolated. Isolated enough that the first time we look over at each other and make eye contact, we begin to kiss. And kiss. And kiss.

When we leave the Crestmont, we're clueless as to what we saw because it was all in German, and because we didn't pause our kissing long enough for either one of us to actually look up at the screen. And that is perfectly okay with me.

You suggest Rosie's afterward for milkshakes- we've both already eaten dinner but it's 9:30 and who doesn't have room for ice cream? I worry for a minute that we'll run into someone from our high school, but it's pretty dead given that it's late on a Sunday, and we take the far corner booth, fairly invisible to the rest of the establishment.

But I'm still on edge, and you can sense it. You ask me what's wrong, and I shrug.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it? I'm happy to listen," you say. You reach across the tabletop to hold my hand, gently guiding it to your mouth and kissing it.

I hesitate, because I hate to be a burden on you, to put you out. But that _feeling_ , that release, that comes with baring to you my deepest, darkest secrets, knowing that you'll hang on to every word and that you won't judge me for it and that you'll want to be with me anyway, that feeling is too good to pass up.

So I tell you all about Marcus- you already knew some of it, what we actually spoke about at the Crestmont. But you don't know what happened _after_ I made that phone call to agree to go out with him, what happened _here_ , where he was an hour late, showed up with a bunch of his friends, and proceeded to grab me by the thigh and tell me he thought I was easy when I turned him down.

As I tell you all of this, you get this look of pure rage on your face. I try to calm you down.

"Look, don't get mad at Marcus- he's not worth it, and it happened a while ago," I say.

You shake your head. "I can't believe anyone would do that to you, Hannah," you say. "What a complete and utter jerk."

"Yeah," I agree.

"But I'm mad at me, too," you add. " _I_ should have asked you out that night. I really wanted to."

"I wanted you to, too."

A look of surprise crosses your face. "Did you really?"

I nod, grinning. "Yeah, I told you Marcus wasn't my first choice, remember? Who did you think I meant?"

Your face changes as you seem to think back to our conversation in the theater that day. "I was afraid to ask. I mean, first you're into Justin, then you mention Marcus to me. I didn't want to hope-,"

I reach over and grab your hand across the table. "Well, it was you. And we're here now. Finally," I say. You smile.

We lighten the subject a bit, and once again, that unburdening I feel with letting go, it's amazing. I feel like I'm floating in my shoes for the rest of the date.

I drop you off at your place- a bit weird, switching roles like this, but you don't drive, so this arrangement will have to do for now. To avoid nosy eyes watching the lit front porch, you kiss me in the darkness of the Jeep. Right until 10:59.

"Tonight was amazing. Tell me more. I want to know everything about you," you say before we say goodnight, and I'm enraptured. _I need this_ , I think. _I need to see you_.

* * *

I _get_ to see you. We spend every single day together for the following two and a half weeks, quickly developing a routine. We make it a point to see each other in school now, walking together before and after class, sitting together for lunch every day. We introduce ourselves to each others' parents- since we're both nice, it helps our cause of being able to hang out together more frequently. Since we have communications together, we even hang out on occasion under the guise of it being a "school project". But my parents are away more, putting in longer hours at the store, and it's no big deal for my bedroom door to stay closed while they're gone, so you usually come over to my place as opposed to the other way around.

We make out a _lot_ in those couple of weeks. But you're different than the night of Jessica's party- you don't do anything at all to test the boundaries. In fact, you seem to take your cues from me as to what exactly you're allowed to do. If I touch your back while we're kissing, you'll touch mine- but you don't do anything, and I mean _anything_ , first. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it, because I know how hard that must be as a teenage guy. I'm not ready for things to escalate quite yet, but I vow that when I _am_ ready that I'll show you just how much your patience has meant to me.

The only downside is that I have to put in my two weeks' notice at the Crestmont so that I can work at the drugstore when my parents need me. Which sucks, because working with you since our first date has been _awesome_. We joke around like before, but there is always subtext now. We still do the gross theater duties like always- but now somehow even those can be sexy. I knew things were great between us when you kissed me in the bathroom supply closet right after I came back from scrubbing the toilets. And that, of course, doesn't count all of the moments where we find snippets of time to be together in a dark, desolate, movie theater. It makes me sad that our working together has to come to an end.

* * *

But it does; before I know it I've put in my last day. Shortly afterward, I call you to let you know that I'll be stopping by the Crestmont to pick up my last paycheck on my way into the bank. When I pull up, I see you working the ticket window. You slide my paycheck under it, making sure that your hands come into contact with mine as much as possible, rubbing my fingers. It's hypnotic.

"Thanks," I say, grateful for your touch.

"I could have given it to you later on tonight. I get off at six," you reply with a grin.

"I was going to the bank anyway. And I wanted to come see you. Just to say hey. I mean, I haven't seen you in a while," I say sarcastically, winking. Like, literally, _every_ day for the last two and a half weeks. "Smells like someone burned the popcorn last night."

"Yeah. Must've- must've been the new girl."

"Wow, that was quick. They already found my replacement."

"Well, there's no replacement for Hannah Baker." I love the way you're looking at me right now. You smile, then continue. "So, Jeff said that Bryce was having a party tonight. Want to check it out after I get off?" You suggest casually.

I shrug. Bryce is a creep; I still can't forgive him for circulating that picture that Justin took, or for grabbing my ass, or for making those comments at the dance about me and Courtney. Still, he won't be the only one there. "Meh," I say noncommittally. I don't particularly feel like facing that scene. I'll go, but only if you really want me to.

"We don't have to go," you quickly backtrack after studying my expression. "Jeff won't care if I come to the party now that we're together. Apparently I've been sufficiently educated on 'girl'. Singular. Besides," You squeeze my fingertips, "I have another idea for something we can do."

Your hand feels amazing on mine. "Okay," I say.

"Come over later?"

I nod. "Sure. Sounds good."

"I should go; I've got toilets to plunge," you say. Bob, one of our coworkers (well, my _ex_ -coworker now), has just come out to the ticket booth.

"Why don't you get the new girl to do it?" I ask.

"I lied. I- am the new girl."

I laugh. "Well, uh, see you tonight."

"Yeah, see ya….oh, wait, uh, I'm supposed to tell you to turn in your uniform," you add.

"Seriously? They really want that back?"

"I know. It's a shame. You look so much nicer in it than I do." You give my hand a final squeeze as I turn to walk away.

* * *

A/N: Just FYI, I think I have a pretty good idea of where I'm going with the story now. It's a bit of a slow-burn, but future chapters will be more exciting, I think. I foresee a few more chapters to go :)


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 (Clay's POV):

As soon as the front door opens, I can tell that something is wrong.

I'm getting better at reading you (I had nowhere to go but up, really). Spending so much time together the last few weeks has certainly helped. The fact that you've opened up to me a lot more has obviously made a huge difference, too. I'm a pretty quick learner once I know what to actually study.

You exchange pleasantries with my parents, who answered the doorbell, but I can tell that you want us to be alone ASAP. Which is fine, because my plan for this evening certainly doesn't involve hanging out here with my folks. Though I wonder if your mindset will derail any of what I was thinking- or hoping- would happen tonight. _No harm in being prepared, Jensen,_ I think to myself. I excuse myself and run upstairs to grab a large knapsack, already stuffed with items I had packed for the occasion.

I walk outside to approach you, and I'm immediately taken aback by the fact that the Jeep isn't in the driveway. Your parents have been super-cool the last few weeks in letting you drive it. I glance around.

"I walked here," you say, your voice oddly distant. "Can we walk to where you planned for us to go?"

"It's a pretty long walk," I say. A couple of miles. But it's doable, I think. I lead us off, down the driveway.

You shrug. "That's okay. I don't mind." You turn towards the house. "Bye, Mr. and Mrs. Jensen."

"What's wrong?" I whisper, as soon as the front door closes. My parents made their presence known in seeing us off, of course, but thankfully retreated back into the house.

You glance back to make sure that my parents aren't still standing there. "I fucked up."

"How?"

Your lip quivers as you bite it, hesitating. "How?" I repeat, a little desperate for your answer.

You take several deep breaths- it seems as though you're doing your best not to cry, but I see your eyes tear up anyway. "I lost a bunch of money."

"How?" I ask again immediately, no filter between my brain and mouth. I rephrase. "Sorry. I mean, what happened?" I inquire more gently. I try to answer the question in my mind before you even say anything. Are you feeling guilty about a shopping trip? Did you buy something really expensive that you can't return? Then I realize you said _lost_ , not _spent_.

"I didn't even spend it on anything. I just- _left_ the bag somewhere, I think," you attempt to explain. You inhale shakily. "I was supposed to deposit money from the store into the bank, but I just- I lost it," you finish.

"Hannah," I say softly. "I'm- I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," you say, wiping your tears.

I stop you for a moment, hug you in the middle of the street. "It was an accident- you didn't mean to. Your parents will understand."

"I thought you were more responsible than this. We _trusted_ you. That's what they said to me this evening," you shudder at the words.

Headlights appear down the road, signaling that we should move from our spot. I put my arm around your shoulders, moving us out of the way, and then we continue to walk on the side of the street. "They'll trust you again. It might take a little bit of time, but you _are_ responsible. You'll earn back their trust," I say confidently, massaging your shoulder with my hand.

"I hope so. God, I'm sorry," you say, sniffling. "This just sucks." You nod at our direction of walking. "So, where are we headed?" you ask, a halfhearted attempt to change the subject.

"Up," is all I reply. We're walking towards the hill, where the houses of the well-to-do are.

Curiously, you don't ask me for more details. I think you want to be surprised.

I can tell you haven't said all you want to about why you're upset, so I ask you about your parents. You tell me you can't believe how stressed they are. You're worried for their future, the future of Baker's Drug Store. I tell you I can't blame you; that times don't always change for the better. As I say it, though, I'm smiling a little too, thinking about Tony's car and cassette tapes- because there are still people out there willing to preserve history. We talk about a lot of other things. How you're bummed that we won't be working together anymore. I completely, 100% agree with you, I'll miss it- a lot. Though I hope I'll still be seeing you just as much.

We walk in silence for a while. You seem relieved to have gotten some of your frustration out. As we continue to walk, we eventually start to hear the sounds of music, of voices, still several blocks away. We're in the hills now. As we get closer, we both begin to realize that we've unintentionally come up on Bryce's party. We're right at the driveway, and I'm about to suggest we go around back to check it out when you say something that makes me stop dead in my tracks.

"You know, that asshole grabbed my butt the day that Alex's list came out."

I turn to look at you, and see the fury behind your eyes. And what I didn't get before, I get now. So _that's_ why you hated it when Alex put out that list. It opened up a reason, however inexcusable, for all kinds of jerks like Bryce to act out.

My eyes must have looked incredulous, because you elaborate. "Yeah. At the Blue Spot. This little store where I get my chocolate fix sometimes. At the cash register, right in front of the cashier. And then he made this smart-ass comment and told me that the list was right."

 _The list_ was _right, Hannah_ , I think, though I've finally learned by now that agreeing with Bryce Walker right now would _not_ be a good idea. Instead, I focus on the fact that the list being right doesn't in any way give Bryce permission to put his hands all over you. I find myself getting angry.

"Well, fuck that asshole, then," I say, pissed off. You're _my_ girlfriend, now- at least if you want to be. "I didn't lead you up here to go to his place. Let's keep going." I hold your hand and we begin to walk again, right past Bryce's driveway.

"Not to mention the shitty comments he made to me at the dance about that picture with Courtney," you add. You give his house the double-finger as we pass by.

We keep walking, going upward. The walking eventually turns into hiking. About a half an hour later, we've finally arrived at where I had in mind- this amazing place in the mountains where I'd been with Tony a few times. Though it would make a prime spot to park and make out, I've never seen any other cars there.

"This is it," I say, pleased. Though it took us a while to get here, being able to talk to you this whole way has only made the journey that much better. The destination didn't even feel that important a few minutes ago, but now that we're finally here- I'm psyched. The night is cool and breezy with the beginnings of autumn thick in the air; the sky is clear with a full moon above.

I open up the knapsack, start to get out some of the stuff I'd packed. First I dig out the blanket, which I spread out in the flattest area I can find. I then break out a bottle of water and a package of cheese crackers for us to share.

"What are we doing here?" you ask, a little warily.

I look upward, point to the sky. _Yes_. It's, filled, absolutely _filled_ , with stars. We're just far enough away from the houses to get a perfect view of the night sky.

I reach into my sack to retrieve a set of binoculars. "I told you about the Perseids meteor shower, right? It's the tail end of it, but we should still be able to see some meteors, some shooting stars."

You relax into a smile. "Okay, astronomy boy. Sounds fun."

You lay down on one side of the blanket and I lay down next to you, our shoulders touching. I take the binoculars for a few minutes and scan the sky for the area where I think we'll have the most luck, then give you the binoculars and point out where to look, throwing in some constellations as reference points.

"Wait, which one is Orion again?" you ask.

I tell you how to spot the belt, where Betelgeuse and Rigel are. "Oh!" you exclaim as you finally seem to have the right spot. While you're looking, I open the water- I'm pretty thirsty from the hike and imagine you are, too- and offer it to you. I tear open the crackers, taking a couple for myself, and hand you the rest of the pack.

You put the binoculars down as you accept the snack. "You know, these remind me of Jessica Davis," you begin thoughtfully. "I drove her home after the winter formal- she was wasted, remember?- and she ate some of the crackers that I had stored in the console. Right before she apologized to me for slapping me across the face."

" _What_?" I ask you incredulously. I can't decide if I'm more bothered that she slapped you or the fact that thinking about it kind of turns me on. Unless she really hurt you, of course.

"Yeah," you say, "that was another unintended result of Alex's 'list'- because I got 'best ass', and Jessica got 'worst ass', she automatically assumed I was sleeping with him, since she believed the rumors that were already going around about Justin. That was fun." The sarcasm drips from your voice. But then you add, hastily, "Though I'm glad she said she was sorry, I guess."

"Wow," I say. "I'm sorry. I had no idea you went through all of that," I'm trying my hardest to wipe the visual from my mind. She _did_ really hurt you. Everyone did.

"Yeah," you agree. "It wasn't the easiest year." You play with the strap on the binoculars. "Parts of it were pretty great, though." You smile a little. "Hey, can I ask you something? I'm kind of surprised you haven't brought it up in the last couple of weeks."

I have no idea what you're going to say, and your words make me anxious. I take a deep breath, turn to face you, look into your eyes. "What's that?"

"I wouldn't ask you this if I didn't already think it was you- but were you the one that put all of the bunny drawings into my compliment bag?"

I can feel myself turning red all over. "Yeah."

"They helped to make last year better. Before Zach Dempsey got to them."

I'm thoroughly confused. "Zach Dempsey?"

"Yeah, he was taking them out of my bag. I think he was pissed at me for turning him down when he asked me out." You shrug. "I don't need to get into it. My point was that those drawings meant a lot to me. They made me feel better at a really low point last year."

I'm still blushing, I know it, but your comment makes me sad, too. "Thanks. I was too afraid to sign my name. Sorry about that."

"Why are you sorry?"

"I know I've said this before, but I'm sorry that I didn't tell you how I felt, or asked you out, sooner. I wasted a lot of time."

You grasp my hand, snuggling closer to me. "We have time now. I'm not going anywhere."

"But-," I'm struggling for words, "You went through a lot, obviously. I wish I could have done more, helped you through things. Or at least been there for you, listened to you."

You look at me seriously. "You _were_ there for me, Helmet. It was my choice not to confide in you- especially about all of the crap that people were saying about me. I- I didn't want you to think less of me."

Suddenly this feels like the right time. I think of something I said to Jeff at the dance- _I think she thinks I care about shit I don't care about_. My heart instantly starts pounding out of my chest. My hands become sweaty while simultaneously my mouth becomes parched. I take the bottle of water back and take a glug, swishing the fluid around my mouth, licking my lips to moisten them. Here goes. There's a first time for everything, right? "I don't- I _couldn't_. I- I- loved you back then. And- I love you now."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 (Hannah's POV):

 _It was my choice not to confide in you- especially about all of the crap that people were saying about me. I_ \- _I didn't want you to think less of me_.

 _I don't- I_ couldn't _. I- I- loved you back then. And- I love you now._

You're words- they're perfect. Just like the song from our first slow dance.

I feel like I'm dreaming. Your declaration- it's even bigger, more revealing, than you telling me you wanted to be more than friends at Jessica's party, when you said our first kisses were the most amazing of your entire life. And that one practically floored me.

You've taken my breath away. I don't have words, or the voice, to express how you've just made me feel.

So I show you instead. I lean forward and kiss you. And I kiss you with a hunger, a _need_ , that I've never felt before. A need to be closer to you.

I pull our faces closer with one hand as we kiss, noses touching, mouths open, tongues dancing, my hand winding its way up the nape of your neck to your hair, where I run my fingers through it as my nails lightly scratch your scalp.

I pull our upper bodies closer with the other hand, curving it down your back as I pull you into me, our chests flush against one another, my breasts squished against your torso.

I pull our pelvises closer with my leg, which I hitch around your hip, the heat between my legs spreading like wildfire as soon as I press up against you.

And yet, we're not close enough. There's too much space between us. Too many clothes. I slip one of my hands up the back of your shirt, feeling your skin.

My passion and enthusiasm unhinges you a little bit, I think. Your kisses become a little distracted, and after a few moments you pull away altogether.

"Hannah?" you ask me, clearly anxious.

I look at you, waiting.

"You- trust me now, right?"

I look at you seriously, right in your eyes. It's true, I didn't used to trust you- I don't think I really trusted _anyone_ \- but I trust you now. In the last few weeks, you've earned it. I nod.

"So you know I'd never, _ever_ , hurt you on purpose, right?"

I nod again. You're so sweet. "Yeah, I know," I whisper.

"Okay, so- just keep letting me know what you want and what you don't, okay? I don't want to do anything wrong." You look a little terrified.

I can't blame you, really, after my reaction last time. Still, we're in a completely different place than we were at Jessica's party. Even though it was just a couple of weeks ago, we're so much more comfortable together now. But more importantly, you've shown me that you want to be with me. And that you're no worse off, I'm not ruining you like I feared. In fact, you've never seemed happier.

Well, except for your momentary nervousness. But I want nothing more than to put you at ease. Well, and to make you the happiest guy ever. I kiss you before saying reassuringly, "You won't. Just relax. I'll let you know."

That seems to help. You look relieved and kiss me again.

Things seem to progress similarly to when we made out the first time, only now I'm not freaked out. We've kissed before- a lot. I'm used to the feel of your mouth, your hands, on me. The only associations I feel are positive ones from the last couple of weeks.

Yet this feels decidedly different- it's more romantic, being outside on a clear, cool, night, high up in the hills, looking out over our town. And because you just told me you love me, and I believe you. And because I want to show you that I love you too, even if it's hard for me to say.

We roll over slightly so that you're half on top of me. You kiss my neck, but this time, all I can think about is how good it feels. And that we're not close enough. I pull off your shirt, tossing it to the side. Your expression of surprise is _awesome_. Since it's getting chilly, you reach around to either side of you to pick up spare pieces of blanket to wrap around us.

You make no moves to remove any of the remaining layers between us, because our previous make-out sessions have been pretty- restrained, with our clothes always staying put. But I'm dying to kiss with all of our skin touching. So I take off my shirt, unhook my bra, and pull that off too. We don't have a lot of light, but the moon is bright. When I look back at you, you're staring at me, mouth agape.

You stare for a while, unable to form words, it seems. "Can- can I touch you?" you finally ask hoarsely, desperation in your voice. "I'll be gentle, I promise." You're almost pleading with me. I nod.

You reach down and tenderly cup one of my breasts in your hand, your thumb softly circling the areola. That light, foreign touch on such a sensitive area- it feels _so_ good. I gasp out loud. When I look at your face again, you look bug-eyed; you're still staring down at my chest, awed, fascinated.

You spend a little more time exploring my chest with your hand, but it's cold, so after a couple of minutes I pull you towards me for another kiss. Your bare chest against mine- it feels amazing.

But we're not close enough.

You move to kiss my neck, and I take a deep breath, considering carefully what I want, and what I'm going to tell you I want. I'm still thinking about it when you begin to move your mouth downward, kissing towards the center of my chest. Your breath comes out in a rush. "Can I kiss you?" You're practically begging me. You're not specific in your request, but I know exactly what you're asking.

Well, who am I to protest? If your mouth feels half as good as your fingertips… I nod again, not trusting my voice.

 _Oh. My. God._ As soon as your hot mouth engulfs my right breast I gasp again, feeling a jolt of heat right between my legs so intense that it's almost painful. You don't know my breast very well yet, but you get an A for effort as you explore every inch of it with your tongue and lips. When you get to this one area of my nipple, I actually cry out loud. Finally getting the reaction you must have been hoping for, you stay where you are and pick up the speed and intensity of your stimulation, unrelenting, while I whimper and jerk and flail and my insides turn to jelly. _Holy shit._

You learn from my right breast _exactly_ how to approach the left one.

By the time you're finished kissing and touching my entire chest, I know precisely what I want. You don't need to do any more to turn me on. _Closer._

I pull you up to me so that we're hugging. Saying it is going to be the hard part, I think.

I clear my throat, deciding to go for broke. "So, um, do you have anything else in your bag for tonight?" I try to frame the question innocently, but it's not really possible.

Your eyes look like they're about to pop out of your head. But then you flush- deeply- and you avoid my eyes. I think I have my answer.

"Yes," you say, your voice barely audible above the breeze that's picked up. "But- um-,"

I can tell you're about to say you're sorry, again, for being a boy and hoping to have sex with your girlfriend while actually being responsible and purchasing protection so that there aren't any additional unintended consequences. But it's really not necessary, as I know you're _hoping_ , not _expecting_ , which for me makes all the difference.

I cover your mouth with my pointer finger, halting your words. "Shhhhh," I say. "There's no need to apologize, or explain."

You look at me questioningly. You clearly have no idea why I brought it up, whether or not I'm mad. I need to clarify, obviously. I'm feeling a little shy, so I angle away from you a bit and whisper into the shadows. "I want to use it," I say.

You don't move for so long I feel it necessary to repeat myself. "Go get it, I want to use it."

It takes you a second to register what I'm saying- but when you do, you practically leap over to your knapsack, rummaging around in one of the pockets until you procure the little foil packet. After retrieving it, you come back to me, wrapping us in the blankets again. You look at me seriously. "Are you sure?" You need confirmation.

I nod. "Yes," I say.

You're quick to reply. "Hannah, I didn't bring these expecting-,"

I silence you with a kiss. "I know. It's my choice. I'm ready." I start to pull down my pants.

You're eager. You jump into action, it seems, stripping off your pants, and then your boxers. But because it's gotten cold, and we're still entangled in the blanket, I don't see much. I reach over to intimately touch you, mostly because I'm curious as hell, but you jerk away.

"Sorry," you apologize as you wrap your fingers around my wrist, "but that's not a good idea right now."

I don't ask you why not. I think I can take a wild guess.

You have trouble with the condom. You're inexperienced, the moonlight is dim, relatively speaking, and your hands are shaking. I try to ease the tension.

"You didn't buy that from my parents' drugstore, did you?" I kid.

You crack a smile, but it's forced. Maybe joking around wasn't such a good idea.

Eventually, you're able to get it on. We shift our positions a bit, I finish pulling off my underwear under the blanket, and then you lean close and kiss me. "Are you still sure?" You whisper in my ear.

I nod. You touch your lips to mine. "I love you," you say again.

"Just- go slow," I say.

You nod. After a few moments, I start to feel some pressure, stretching, then a little more, and then a little more. Involuntarily, I gasp a little. You're looking into my eyes, trying to gauge my reaction. "Are you okay?" you ask, concerned.

I nod. "Just- slow," I reiterate.

A little more pressure, a little more. Slowly. The pressure hurts, but you're being as gentle as you can. The pain is offset somewhat by the nearness of your body to mine. You rest on your elbows so I'm not uncomfortable, but we're finally as close as I was hoping we would get.

This continues for a minute or two as we both slowly adjust to you being inside of me. It's intimate- you're looking into my eyes and I'm looking back into yours. You kiss my face and lips ever-so-gently. Eventually, the pressure becomes less painful as my body acclimates. I give you a slight nod, permission to go ahead.

You begin to move, rhythmically, and for someone who said they're not into sports, and who has never done this before, you're pretty coordinated- though I should have known, from the way you danced. You're slow at first. You keep asking me if I'm okay, gun-shy, and I keep nodding. The physical feeling is- foreign, strange, but the pain is beginning to subside, and emotionally the closeness is pretty fucking amazing.

You start to pick up the pace. I grit my teeth since the pain hasn't gone away, but it's kind of a _good_ kind of pain.

You don't last long. I won't hold it against you. Watching you get off, seeing this expression on your face where you're completely out of control, it's the best kind of power trip. I feel a measure of self-satisfaction, even though I really didn't do much. You collapse on top of me, and I can feel your heartbeat as though it were my own. Your skin is hot against mine. I'm plenty warm now.

It isn't until we're done, with you lying on top of me, nuzzling my cheek with your nose, that I finally see a shooting star. I don't know if it counts as a real one or not, but I decide to make a wish anyway.

Except for some crazy reason I can't think of one. And I can't explain it. But lying there naked under the stars with you, I feel at peace. Safe. Wanted. Happy. _Loved_.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Anonymous guest reviewer, the beginning of this one's for you!

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Chapter 8 (Clay's POV):

A couple of nights later, you and I are sitting next to each other on your couch, watching _Star Wars: The Force Awakens_ ; at my insistence, of course. I have my arm around your shoulders, but otherwise we're a safe few inches apart, since your parents are in the adjacent dining room, doing paperwork for their drug store. Normally this movie would have my commanding attention. Given recent circumstances, however….

One would think that after getting laid the first time, sex might be on my mind a little bit less, but that would be a big, fat, negative. I'm thinking about it more- _way_ more. Since being with you a couple of nights ago, my red-blooded, testosterone-fueled, adolescent male brain has been working overtime.

And I can't get images of you out of my head.

Images like the curve of your breasts in the moonlight; I mean, your curves in general- I couldn't see much below your waist with the blanket covering us, but they're all just so sexy. I haven't been able to stop masturbating just thinking about how beautiful you are. And I'm completely awed at the fact that someone as beautiful as you would choose _me_ to share that kind of experience with.

Or the image of your face towards the end- you looked like you were finally starting to have a good time. Now that I won't have to worry quite as much about hurting you, I want to see you have an even _better_ time, as soon as possible. I can't wait to have sex again. I'd almost say _make love_ , because it honestly felt that way to me, but since you didn't say the words back, it's hard to say if you felt the same.

But maybe you do. You sneak a hand on my thigh after double-checking to make sure your parents aren't looking.

I almost groan. Your hand feels so good. I want to feel them all over me. I want to put my hands all over _you_. There was so much that we _didn't_ do the other night. I try not to react and to keep my eyes focused on the screen. It should be easy- after all, it's the climactic Han Solo / Kylo Ren bridge scene. But I can't help sneaking glances in your direction, wondering what you're thinking, sitting there with your hand resting on my leg.

You pull your hand away abruptly when you see your dad stand up. It's the sweetest form of torture.

Thankfully, your dad has good news- at least to me. Both of your parents need to run to the drugstore to look for some checks. Your dad gives me an intimidating look, telling you in a warning kind of tone that they shouldn't be longer than a half an hour or so.

 _Half an hour? This guy is seriously overestimating my abilities._

You're parents aren't even out the door when you've met my eyes, and thank God, I can tell you're thinking the same thing that I am.

Literally, the second that the door closes, you jump up to turn the TV off. You pull me up towards you with both hands, hard, until I practically crash into you; then we stumble into your bedroom, kissing. We leave the door open, which for me is terrifying, but you assure me that the less background noise, the better. We'll more likely hear your parents' car pull back into the drive, you say. It makes sense, I suppose, though in the time that I was inside of you the other night a bomb could have detonated and I probably wouldn't have noticed.

We fall down onto your bed. You pull my shirt off even more aggressively than you did a couple of days ago and _damn_ , it's hot. You reach for the lamp that's lit on your bedside table but I immediately stop you, encircling my fingers around your wrist. No, I was already deprived once of viewing your body in all of its glory; I want to actually _see_ you this time. _Please_ , I beg, and you nod. I reach for your shirt to unbutton it; slowly, giving you plenty of time to swat my hand away if you choose. I'm still a little apprehensive from Jessica's party to do anything too quickly. But you respond eagerly this time, kissing me harder, swirling your tongue around mine. When I finally get all of your buttons undone, I gently run my hands over your shoulders to ease away the material of the shirt down your arms, until all you have on top is your bra. It's black and silky.

I pause, because I just want to stare at you for a second. Seriously, this is the stuff of my wildest fantasies. You look so gorgeous. But since we're crunched for time, I can't sit back and look at you all night. I use my mouth and lips to start kissing your neck, down the center of your chest, towards your stomach. An area that I didn't get to spend any time on the other night, and one that I desperately want to explore now, if only for a minute.

God, more _curves_ \- the way your waist narrows, and your hips flare out, it's just so fucking sexy. Your skin is so soft and creamy. I kiss around your belly button, my erection so intense I feel like it might pierce through my jeans.

Moaning, you reach down and unbutton the button on your pants, unzipping them, and sliding them down over your hips towards your knees. _Oh, my fucking God._ I can really see your hips now, and your thighs, how smooth and curvy you are. You are, by far, the hottest girl I have ever seen. Your panties are black lace.

But as I stare at you in your underwear, a feeling of recognition flickers in my brain for a moment, though I'm not sure what it is that I'm recognizing. Since I'm not really thinking with the right head, I can't quite put my finger on it.

I shake it off, and put my fingers on _you_ instead, at the edges of your panties, ever so slowly removing them while you take off your bra. And once I see you completely naked, I forget all about the strange déjà vu of a moment ago. I don't think it's possible to get any more turned on.

* * *

 _Wow_ , our second time is even better than our first. I love being able to see your whole body under the soft light of your lamp, on top of your bedspread. I love that we're comfortable in your bed; both physically, since we don't have to deal with hard ground; and mentally, since we've already done this once, so it feels a little more natural. I love the way that you respond to the sensation; it's easy to tell that it feels much more pleasurable for you this time around. I love that I finally get to feel so close to you, in the absolute best way possible, after wanting to be close ever since I first met you. I love _you_ , Hannah. I say it again. You still don't say it back- you look scared. I try to comfort you as best I can, so that you're not scared anymore, though part of me is wondering whether it's _me_ who should be comforted, seeing as I just put myself out on a limb to express my feelings for a second time without any reciprocation whatsoever.

We even have five minutes to get ourselves together before your parents pull into the driveway.

* * *

It isn't until I'm lying in bed, after I get home later that night, that I realize what seeing you in your panties reminded me of.

 _Today I am wearing lacy black underwear, for the sole purpose of knowing that I am wearing them._

The line from a poem I read a while back in the _Lost-N-Found_. I think of you because you and I had a conversation about it one day at work. Right?

 _That sounds like shit._

 _You think so? I- I think it feels really real. I- I mean-_ damn _._

 _I wonder who wrote it._

 _I know, right? One dark human being, that's for sure. I mean, I like her poem, I think, but I'm…I'm not sure I'd want to hang out with her._

Suddenly I leap up out of bed to find my copy of the magazine. It takes me a minute to locate, but it's right there on my bookshelf, the top on a stack of other ones. I flip to page 7 and read the words that served as a bit of a trigger tonight.

 _Today I am wearing lacy black underwear, for the sole purpose of knowing that I am wearing them. And underneath that- I am absolutely naked. And I've got skin, miles and miles of skin. I've got skin to cover all my thoughts like Saran Wrap, that you can see through to what leftovers are inside from the night before. And despite what you might think, my skin is soft, and smooth, and easily scarred. But that doesn't matter, right? You don't care about how soft my skin is; you just want to hear about what my fingers do in the dark. But what if all they do is crack open windows so that I can see lightning through the clouds? What if all they crave is a jungle gym to climb, for a taste of fresher air? What if all they reach for is a notebook to scribble in or a hand to hold? But that's not the story you want. You are licking your lips and baring your teeth. Just once, I would like to be the direction someone else is going in. I don't need to be the water in the well. I don't need to be the well. But I'd like to not be the ground anymore. I'd like to not be the thing people dig their hands in looking for something they can own. What if I can't hum on key? What if my melodies are the ones nobody hears? Some people can recognize a tree, a front yard, and know they've made it home. How many circles can I walk in before I give up looking? How long before I'm lost for good? It must be possible to swim in the ocean of the one you love without drowning. It must be possible to swim without becoming water yourself. But I keep swallowing what I thought was air. I keep finding stones tied to my feet._

At the time that I had that conversation with you at the Crestmont, before Jessica's party, I would never in a million years have suspected that it was you who wrote this poem. Only looking at it now, after the conversations that I've had with you in the last few weeks, now I'm not so sure.

 _It wasn't the easiest year. Those drawings meant a lot to me- they made me feel better at a really low point last year._

 _Today I am wearing lacy black underwear…_

Could it be you who wrote it, Hannah? And on a night that you were probably pretty sure that I might see them, did you wear those black lace panties on purpose?

I check my phone. It's after 11:30 p.m. I could get in trouble for calling you this late, if your parents hear your phone ring.

But fuck it. I have to find out. Now.

I call you, and you answer on the second ring. We probably would have texted tonight anyway, so it's not altogether surprising for you to hear from me.

"Hello?"

"Hey," I greet you. I'm not sure how to broach the subject.

"I had fun earlier," you say. Reassurance perhaps? Compensating for the fact that you didn't say you love me?

"Yeah, me, too," I say distractedly. Of course, it was about the most fun I've ever had in my entire life. But that's not what I'm thinking about right now. "Hannah?" I finally ask.

"Yeah?"

I take a deep breath. Steer myself for the probing question. "Can I ask you something?"

"What is it?" You say. You don't say yes exactly, but I plow forward anyway.

"Did you wear that underwear tonight on purpose?"

It takes a few seconds, and you sound thoroughly confused when you finally answer. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

I switch tactics. "Did- um- did you write that poem in the Lost-N-Found at the end of last year?"

You pause. For a while. Your silence is a dead giveaway. But you eventually confirm my worst suspicion anyway. "Yes," you whisper. Your tone has resignation in it, as though you can tell that I figured it out from my first question.

My heart starts pounding. My mind is swimming with thoughts, _your_ thoughts. _My skin is soft, and smooth, and easily scarred. How many circles can I walk in before I give up looking? How long before I'm lost for good? It must be possible to swim without becoming water yourself. But I keep swallowing what I thought was air. I keep finding stones tied to my feet._

"Did you really feel that way?" I whisper back. I'm not sure I want to know, but I have to.

"Yes," you say again, even more softly this time, if that's possible.

"Do you feel that way now?"

"No, not usually," you say. "I like that I can talk to you about some of the shit I've gone through recently."

"But sometimes?" My heart is thumping even louder now.

"Yeah, sometimes," you agree faintly.

I know I have to say something here. It breaks my heart that you still feel this way, _however_ often it is. "Can you do me a favor?" I ask you.

"What is it?" You sound cautious, wary.

"Talk to someone. Someone who can make you feel better."

"But I talk to you. You make me feel better," you protest.

"But I can't help you with everything. I don't know how. Please," I practically plead you. "Look, I used to have really bad anxiety, and my mom made me do this talk therapy with my doctor. I always used to complain about going, but looking back- it helped, I promise," I tell you. "So please, tell someone. Soon."

You hesitate. I play the last card I have, though since I don't know if you love me or not, I have no idea how effective it is. "Please. For me."

You hesitate another second. Then, finally, "Okay."


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I should emphasize again that the Hannah in this chapter is definitely not the same Hannah in the last episode of the series- obviously this one had to go through way less. Also, I should add that this chapter was a bit weird for me to write, so sorry if the narrative isn't quite cohesive ('you' should be Clay; 'he', Mr. Porter). Finally- I love reviews, they're my biggest reward for posting, and they've dwindled a bit. I miss them!

* * *

Chapter 9 (Hannah's POV):

It's two days later- the earliest chunk of time he had available to see me. I think of a story you told me as I make my way to Mr. Porter's office- telling Dr. Ellman in therapy about the panic attack you had over the school spelling bee.

Mr. Porter greets me with a smile as I enter the room.

"I was glad to see you on my calendar."

"Why?" For the life of me, I have no idea.

"I'm just glad that you made an appointment…to come…talk. So, uh…what's on your heart…today?"

Where to begin? You mean, _other_ than a lot of the last year plus of my life? "Well, uh, just everything, I guess."

His phone vibrates, but he quickly silences it. "Kay, everything, huh? Kay, everything is a lot. Why don't we…start with how you're feeling right now?"

"Right now?"

"Yeah. Right now."

"Um-," I think about it. And to be honest, I feel better now than I have in a very long time. Something to do with how well _we're_ doing, I suppose. Though admittedly, even in other ways this year has gotten off to a decidedly more positive start. Losing my parents' money sucked, but it didn't seem to take them too long to get over it, since they know it was an accident. Far more importantly, however, there haven't been any major incidents with anyone at school yet this year, and I haven't heard any new rumors about myself. Perhaps when I got my hair cut I really _did_ leave all the bad drama behind.

I don't tell him any of this. I just say, "Better, I guess. I mean, I lost some of my parents' money recently, but-", I think of that evening under the stars with you and can now associate that awful feeling of earlier that day with something completely wonderful that night, "I'm over that now. I feel better."

Mr. Porter brightens. "Well, that's a good word. But better than what? How you felt right after you lost it?"

I shrug. "Yeah. And my lowest."

His expression turns serious again. "When was that?"

 _Not too long ago, really._ I shrug again, don't answer.

"How low was that? What was so wrong?"

"Just- everything. I just didn't care anymore. School, myself, the people here…" I trail off, hoping to leave it at that.

His phone rings again. I tell him he can get it, but he mutters a few monosyllabic grunts before continuing.

"Uh, no. No, uh. Listen, what- what about your friends? Even at your lowest, you still cared about them, right?"

"Friends? What friends?"

"I know you have friends. I see you in the halls."

"Yeah, well-"

"Jessica Davis, Alex Standall, and I've seen you around with Courtney Crimson."

"They're not my friends."

"What about Clay Jensen?"

 _You_. I can't help but smile. And not just a little uptick of the corner of my mouth, either. No, a _smile_. You're not my friend. I mean, you're my _best_ friend, but you're so much more to me than that.

And what am I to you? I'm lucky, because you've told me, a couple of times now.

"Clay Jensen loves me."

His eyebrow raises. "He does, does he? And does that have anything to do with why you're feeling better?"

I blush. "Maybe."

Mr. Porter nods approvingly. "That's great, Hannah. Is- is he your boyfriend?"

I nod. "We didn't exactly have a conversation making it official, but I'm pretty sure he is. We see each other almost every day, talk every night."

He nods again, gives me a genuine smile. "That's great," he says again. "Right?"

I nod after a moment. "Right."

He picks up on my hesitation. "Why the pause? Do you love him?"

I nod again. "Yes," I say. I don't hesitate this time.

Mr. Porter looks at me quizzically. "Then what's the problem?" He asks it in the gentlest way possible, but it still feels like an affront.

"I haven't told him I love him yet," I finally manage to say.

He raises an eyebrow, whistles. "Oh, I get it. Is he okay with that?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I haven't talked to him about it."

He studies me thoughtfully. "Well, it doesn't sound like he's going anywhere for a while."

"I hope not."

"Is there a reason why you haven't told him yet?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm too afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"I'm not sure."

"So what happened, Hannah? How did you get so afraid?"

"One thing on top of another."

"If I'm going to help you, I'm going to need you to be a little more specific."

"I'm sure you've heard some of the rumors about me."

Mr. Porter's phone rings _again_. To his credit, he almost instantly shuts it off. If it were me, I'd at least want to know who's calling, but so far he's managed to resist the temptation to check the screen. It's still distracting as hell, though.

"I haven't, actually. What did these rumors say?"

"Last year I was voted- actually, not voted, someone made this stupid list- 'best of', 'worst of', thing. People have been reacting to it ever since."

"When was the last time?"

I think back. "The end of last year, probably. I wrote a poem that I didn't want anyone to read, but someone I trusted deceived me and showed it to everyone. People figured out it was me, and because of what I wrote, it just fueled more rumors."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Does it still bother you a lot?"

I shrug. "Not as much as it could, I guess. It's been months. But yeah."

"And you think that's what's making you afraid now?"

"Well, in part. That was only the latest example. There were a bunch of others."

"Care to tell me about them?"

I shake my head. "Not really. They all happened a while ago. I don't need to drudge up the past. I've been able to talk to Clay about a lot of it. He really listened; made me feel better."

"So if you feel as though you've talked a lot of your problems out, what brought you here today?"

I pause. "Clay," I say eventually.

"He told you to see me?"

"Well, he told me to see _someone_. Someone who would listen."

Mr. Porter pauses. "It sounds like he really cares about you."

I beam as I think of you. "He does."

"And maybe _that's_ what scares you? You've never been so close to anyone before? And maybe you're scared to love him in case something goes wrong? Something like one of the things that happened to you last year?"

You're different, I know you are. But _still_. I'm terrified. Mr. Porter is spot-on. I lower my head, nod ever-so-slightly.

"So, let me get this straight. Last year was a bad year for you, for a lot of reasons. You felt low- not like yourself. But this year has improved so far- you haven't had any run-ins here at school, Clay became your boyfriend, and you talk to him when something bad happens- like when you lost your parents' money- and he makes you feel better. But he told you to talk to someone else, someone like me, because maybe he's afraid he can't be the only person you talk to. Does that sound about right?"

He's hit the nail on the head. I nod emphatically. "Yes, that about covers it."

Mr. Porter looks thoughtful. He pulls out a business card from the top drawer of his desk. He scribbles a phone number on the card in pen before handing it to me. "This business card contains the number of an adolescent psychiatrist- Dr. Ellman. He has a very good reputation. You should talk to him."

I struggle not to crack up laughing. _Dr. Ellman?_ After hearing all of the stories that you've told me…

He continues. "But the number I wrote is my cell phone. You can call me if you ever feel you need to. I promise I'll answer- as long as I'm not meeting individually with another student," Mr. Porter continues, grinning a little, obviously referring to his ignored mobile over the last half-hour. "You always have other people to talk to- other people that care."

I nod. "Okay."

"When you leave this office, how would you like things to be different for Hannah?"

"I don't know. I'm- not sure what I'm expecting."

"Well, it sounds like there's something that you need, that you're not getting. So let's start there."

"I need- to not feel afraid."

Mr. Porter gives me a sympathetic look. "I can't tell you how not to be afraid. All I can say is that if you _are_ afraid, reach out to one of us. Me, or Dr. Ellman….or Clay. From what I know about Clay, he seems like someone who you can be afraid around. And the only advice that I can give is that I think it's okay to follow your heart."

I wonder to what specifically he's referring. I nod, put the business card in my pocket, stand up to shake his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Porter," I say.

"Anytime, Hannah. Come and see me again soon, 'kay?"

I nod.

I walk out of his office, down the hallway. The bell rings, and a minute later you catch up to me. I feel your arm slip around my shoulders before I see you. "Hey," you say, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Hey," I reply. I love that we're walking down the hall together, _together_ together. I can't tell you how many times I've fantasized about something as simple as walking in school with you. I summon my courage. "So- I saw Mr. Porter today," I sneak you a sideways glance as we walk.

You're measured in your response. "You did? How did it go?"

I shrug. "It went all right. He referred me to Dr. Ellman." I sneak another look at you, because I know how you'll react.

Sure enough you roll your eyes and groan exasperatedly. "Are you kidding? Well, get ready for long-winded monologues about behavioral techniques he used on his cat." I can tell you're half-joking, though. You quickly clarify that you are. "Seriously, though, that's great," you say, massaging my shoulder a bit.

"It was okay. Other than the referral Mr. Porter wasn't overly helpful. But seeing him today did make me want to say something." _Follow your heart._

"What's that?" We've reached the end of the hall, and we both stop where we're standing.

I lick my lips and lean in close to you to whisper in your ear, heart pounding. "I love you."

When I pull away, you're smiling so hard it looks like your cheeks will start to hurt if you hold it that way for long. "I love you, too," you say. You try to sound casual, and you know, fail.

We pause for a moment, and then you gesture to the exit. "So- what are your plans for this afternoon?" you ask me.

I shrug. "I don't know," I reply, "It's been a bit of a stressful day. I was thinking I might go home and take a bath."

You try to look casual, but you fail at that, too. " _Really_?" you ask as your eyes bulge practically out of your head. I can tell you're picturing me naked in the bathtub, and I smile.

"My parents won't be home until later," I say. "They're at the store. Care to join me?"

You blush as you grab my hand and we walk out of school towards my place.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: First of all, thanks for all of the great feedback! It's much appreciated. I really didn't intend to write beyond the plot of the TV series, but upon all of your requests to keep going, I realized that I probably could have wrapped things up a bit better (though I'm going pretty far into the future to do it). This will be the last chapter, though. Enjoy :)

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Epilogue (Clay's POV): About a year and a half later (senior prom)

I pull my parents' car in your folks' driveway, and as soon as I put it in park, I realize that my hands are shaking.

No, thankfully I'm not nervous because of usual prom-night jitters- high expectations for typical teenage rites-of-passage accompanied by crippling fear and anxiety. _Will we have sex? Will we be any good at it? Will we be together?_ I had those legitimate fears at one time, too, but thank God, I'm grateful that most of those questions have long since been answered. Things have been pretty fucking amazing between us ever since Jessica's party last year. The sex? Yeah, pretty frequent, I guess. Maybe not as much as we'd prefer, given the fact that we both still live at home, but it's more often than I could have possibly hoped I would have during one of the more awkward phases of my life. It's gotten _really_ incredible, too- exploring your body, figuring out what you like, watching the pleasure you experience intensify. I can't think about your latest orgasm without getting really turned on- but I think about it anyway, frequently. And yeah, we're together, at least for as long as I can hold onto you. Eventually, I was a dork and phrased the question out loud, much like the way I asked you to dance at our first winter formal. You responded similarly, too, smiling and saying that you would love to be my girlfriend.

Maybe I'm shaking in part because I've only been driving for a few months and I'm not quite used to it yet. Initially, it was my anxiety that kept me from getting behind the wheel- though since you're the best girlfriend ever for driving me around all this time, part of it was that I just got spoiled. But of course my parents insisted that I get my license when I turned eighteen so that when I go off into the 'real world' this fall I'll be able to drive if I need to.

But what my parents don't know- and the _real_ reason I'm so nervous right now- is that I have no intention of going somewhere that I'll even want to drive. Whether or not the place where I intend to go is the same place I'll actually end up depends on how things go tonight.

I applied to colleges all over the country- local, in-state, out-of-state. Aerospace engineering. I got accepted pretty much everywhere- I blew away the SAT, and combined with my GPA at Liberty, which is pretty rigorous, and my application essay (which I was actually really proud of), it was enough to make me stand out, I guess.

But there's _one_ particular letter that I received recently that made my heart pound, _one_ letter that I studied for days, _one_ letter that I was terrified to bring up to you before now despite mentioning all of the others. I'm hoping to tell you all about it tonight.

It's an acceptance letter to the NYU Polytechnic Institute in New York City.

You're going to Columbia.

Of course you are. Even though your grades slipped a bit back towards the end of sophomore year, you're so smart. Also, as it so happens, your boyfriend is a pretty good peer tutor. I was a positive influence on you, too, I guess, since I'm not nearly as into the party scene as Justin Foley or Bryce Walker. Since most of my exams were on Monday mornings, and I actually cared about how I did on them, the more weekends we hung out over the last year and a half, the more your grades improved.

Mr. Porter even told you in a meeting at the beginning of this year that he was impressed with how you'd managed to turn your GPA around. I remember the look of satisfaction on your face when you got out of that meeting, after you told me that part of your motivation came from wanting to say to Mr. Porter's face that you didn't feel like "thinking smaller." And you didn't. You heard from Columbia a little while later and you sent in your acceptance letter the day after you received it. At my prodding, of course. You decided to wait to declare a major, since you're interested in both biology and poetry, and I couldn't be prouder that you're pursuing both of your passions. Though even as I was encouraging you to follow your dreams, I knew that I was simultaneously sending you across the country, further away from me- and it broke my heart. I don't know when the realization hit, sometime later that night when I broke down crying in my bed, but it occurred to me that I could follow _my_ dreams, too, and spare myself the heartache. My NYU application went out the following week.

I have to let them know about the status of my enrollment in five days. Time is running out for me to talk to you about it- because if you don't want me in New York with you, there's no way in hell I'm going to school three thousand miles away from home. I need to get away from parents, yes- but Stanford will do just fine; the idea of going all the way to New York to school and being alone is enough to make me feel like I need to get back on those anxiety drugs.

So that's why I'm so nervous tonight- because why not use senior prom to talk about our future? Unfortunately it can't wait until graduation. You think I'm going to Stanford- it's the most competitive school I applied to by far, and it's relatively close to home. You say you'll see me during the holidays and summer, since your parents are going to want to see you enough to fly you home. But you've also told me that your parents might move again now that you're finishing up with school. They had stuck around so as to give your last couple of years of high school some stability, but once you leave for college the world is basically their oyster. I can't take the chance that they'll move somewhere far away and I might never see you again.

I double-check that the typed form letter is folded in my tuxedo jacket pocket before opening the car door. I pick up your corsage, which is sitting in the passenger's seat, before striding up to your parents' house and ringing the bell.

Your dad answers; he gives me a huge smile and a pat on the back. The man loves me. I think he credits me for single-handedly turning your life around. Not to mention, you told me he has deluded himself into thinking that we don't have sex.

I smile in return. Your dad's a good guy. He's working at the Walplex now, but that was inevitable based how long the sales at Baker's drug had been slumping, and he's gotten used to the change. His eyes look tired, but this is a big night for his daughter, and he hides it well.

Your mom approaches, giving me a hug, and I squeeze her back- she's such a nice lady. You are so obviously everything to them. We make small talk while I wait for you.

It takes a little while, but when you finally make your appearance, it's so worth it- you look breathtaking. You're wearing a long purple gown- 'lilac', apparently- you told me so that I could coordinate your corsage and my bowtie with your dress. Your hair is curled and styled, but still down, falling over your shoulders. You're growing it out, but it's not as long as before. Your makeup is beautiful. Your heels make you taller than me, but that's okay. I can't wait to lean up to kiss you.

We awkwardly hug, since your parents are standing right there, and you smile at me. Your parents want pictures of everything. I put on your corsage- lilacs; I figured it's hard to go wrong when the flowers in the corsage are the same name as the color of your girlfriend's dress- while your parents snap photographs nonstop. We stand next to each other, smiling. More pictures.

After a few minutes, after saying goodbye to your folks and promising that we won't drink and drive and that you'll be home before dawn, we leave to go to Tony's. We've gotten a lot closer to Tony and Brad over the last year or so, since they're guys that you and I both like equally. Tony offered to drive tonight, and given how expensive it is to rent a limo, how cool Tony's Mustang is, and how we'll have a designated driver, it was kind of a no-brainer.

Tony's dad's in the front yard as we wait, tinkering with Tony's mustang, as per usual, it seems. Brad isn't there- I'm not sure if it's because Tony hasn't told his parents that Brad is his prom date or because he is simply supposed to pick Brad up- but we chit-chat with Tony's mom for a few minutes until Tony's father deems the vehicle acceptable to drive, and then the three of us head out again.

We pick Brad up and arrive at the school a little bit early, since Tony's DJ'ing. Tony and Brad begin setting up the equipment on stage while we sit on the bleachers and drink some punch and wait for the music to play and for people to start filing in.

You and I have this whole school dance thing down. I might not have danced much before, but I love dancing with you now. Since the winter formal sophomore year, we've gone every year since- and I took you to junior prom last year, too. I even bought you a couple of ballroom dancing lessons this year for your birthday, in an effort to emulate Scott and Fran from one of our mutually favorite movies.

We tear up the dance floor. In reality, we don't need all of this to have a good time; we're just as content on the couch watching _Star Wars_. But the gym is nicely decorated, with strings of lights hanging everywhere providing ambience; and Tony's excellent taste in music doesn't hurt, either. I like the slow dancing most of all, happy that it's automatically assumed that we'll be dancing to every slow song, and that I could probably put my hands on your butt if I wanted to. I don't though- I'd rather wait until we're alone. I try to bring up the letter in my jacket pocket, but the words get stuck in my throat.

We take a break from dancing to get prom pictures taken by the professional photographer. I look like a dork, but you're beautiful as always. I tell you that you can keep them. We sip some more (now spiked) punch.

Time flies, and before we know it, prom is winding down as people begin to scatter, looking for after-prom entertainment. We are heading to Jeff's, who is having the biggest after-party of anyone we know. Jeff and Laura are another couple we've spent a lot of time with in the last year; you were tired of the people you were hanging out with, so I told you that of course we could spend time with my friends (even though I am far from Mr. Popular). I can tell that Jeff finds tremendous satisfaction at the fact that you and I are doing so well- and he continually gives me shit about how much he had to 'tutor' me. I always reply that I don't need any tutoring anymore, thank you very much.

We help Tony and Brad with their stereo equipment, and then Tony drives us to Jeff's place. The anticipation builds a little, just because it's prom and it's after prom and a bunch of people will be drinking and doing drugs and having sex there. Jeff already told me that I could use his room if I want some 'alone time' with you. I laughed it off a bit, because we've had sex plenty of times now so it's not as though the private time is necessary, but I _do_ want to be alone so that I can talk to you about this damn letter. Well, and maybe have sex, too- on an actual bed, without having to worry about parental interruption- which is a bit of a rarity, I suppose.

We hold hands as we go into Jeff's parents' house, who are away for the weekend because they're cool that way. We spot Jeff and Laura in the kitchen next to the keg, being social with all of their guests looking to refill (or fill) their drinks. You and I head over there. The spiked punch was good, but we didn't have much. If I'm going to work up the nerve to ask if I can move to New York with you, I'm going to need some more liquid courage. I greet Jeff and we fist bump. Jeff first pours a beer for you, and then for myself, giving it to me with a smile and a pat on the back.

We walk around the party, chatting with some acquaintances from class. Everyone is there- we briefly talk to Jessica and Justin, then Alex, then Skye. But after a while, I can sense that you're getting a little bored. So am I. These people that we're talking to are nice enough, but they're not really in our future. _Our_ future, right? It's time to talk, I think. I refill my beer, then tell you what Jeff said about lending me his room. It's still relatively early. You raise your eyebrow but agree to accompany me upstairs.

We ascend the staircase and I lead you down the hall to the last door on the right, which is where Jeff told me to go. It's closed, but not locked- and when we enter, the room is empty (perhaps Jeff left it closed on purpose to 'save' it for me).

We immediately start to kiss. God, you're such a good kisser- sometimes I still can't get over the fact that I'm with you. _But for how long?_ , part of me wonders. The thought is enough to give me butterflies, become distracted.

The intensity of our kissing increases for a minute, and then suddenly, you're removing my jacket. _Wait!_ The panic rises up in the back of my throat as I realize that at any moment you could come across the letter yourself. Part of me wonders if it wouldn't be better just to say screw it- literally, finish undressing, and leave the discussion of my letter for another time- but I know I wouldn't be able to forgive myself. I pull away from you, anxious.

"What is it?" you ask, picking up on my nerves. "The fact that it's prom?"

I shake my head. I only wish that were it.

"Then what's wrong, Helmet?" you use my special nickname and your most soothing voice.

I don't think I can do it. My throat is suddenly so dry that the thought of speaking is almost unimaginable. But then I realize- I don't have to. The letter already has the words written down that I want most to say.

I dig into my breast pocket and hold out the sheet of paper to you with a shaking hand.

You pluck it from my fingertips and begin to read. Your brow furrows as you carefully read the letter in its entirety. You take your time- meanwhile, I'm so nervous I can't even bear to look at you, but I can't bear to look away, either- I just keep sneaking glances in your direction, checking to see how far you are, whether you've finished. When you get to the end, your eyes are as wide as saucers and your mouth is hanging open. You almost look as though you've been slapped across the face, you're so shocked.

I can't tell if it's shocked in a good way or a bad way, but all of a sudden I don't have a good feeling about this.

"Just- just think about it, Hannah," I say quickly, somehow finally finding my voice. "Think about it, and we can talk later. I'll leave you alone for a minute- I'll be downstairs." I turn to leave. Suddenly I can't get out of this room fast enough.

I'm at the door, about to turn the knob, when I hear you say it. "Wait."

I slowly turn around, afraid of what I'm going to see. But when I see the smile on your face, and the excitement behind your eyes, I realize that I had it all wrong. You're _jubilant_ \- it just took you a minute to express it.

I quickly stride across the room and practically fling myself into your arms, holding you tightly to me. We kiss and undress and make love. And as close as we are now, it's not nearly as close as we're going to be.


End file.
